Cough it Up, Bleed it Out
by my black crimson rose
Summary: All he wanted to do was go out with Blake, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen. [90's AU, well it takes place right at the beginning of 2000 so you choose]


He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around his date's shoulders. She smiled up at him, "thanks," she whispered as they walked back to his bike. The girl had wanted to go for a walk, and he felt the need to a cigarette so he had agreed. He didn't have a clue how he ended up going on a date with this girl, he didn't even catch her name.

He honestly thought that he was going on a date with Blake.

When he showed up at her house; freshly shaven, showered, and ready. Blake had smiled at him and pushed a friend of hers into his arms and said, "Have fun you two!"

She had then closed the door.

He felt his heart jump to his throat, and his eyes prick. Fuck. **FUCK!** He wanted to hurt something, to hurt someone. But that could wait until later, when he would wrap the black, white and red bandana around his throat. Then he could make them hurt as much as he was.

Blake was never like this before. He actually had a chance before she had made friends with the Schnee girl, Yang and Ruby. Before she had rid herself of the leather and monochromatic clothing. Back when she was still his Kitten, sitting on the back of his bike and wrapping her arms around his waist. Her long black hair blowing in the wind.

But he had taken this girl out, treated her right and had tried to smile for her. He couldn't though, but he tried. "I'm sorry," he said to the girl as he walked her to her door, his jacket now back in its place. The girl had shaken her head and smiled saying that it was fine. It wasn't, not for him.

The taste of rejection had never left him the whole evening, along with that hallow feeling in his gut. He pulled up to his driveway, shutting off the bike and stomped into his house slamming the door behind him. "Adam, how was your date!?" His Aunt shouted from the basement. He could hear her walking up the stairs, and he in return ran up the stairs to the top floor. His Doc Martins slamming against the wood loudly as he took to the stairs two at a time.

"It fucking sucked," he called back to her over the railing not stopping until he got to his room. White walls covered in band and horror movie posters, pictures of a better time on his nightstand and dresser, a pile of clothes piled in the corner and his covers on his bed at the foot of the mattress. He grabbed the bandana from its place beside a picture frame. He stopped and set his jaw. The picture frame fell forward he had wanted to take it into hand and throw it from his window, but thought better of it.

He tied it loosely around his neck and fixed the collar of his jacket. He touched his pocket to check for keys; they were still there. He turned, making just as much noise leaving as he did coming. His Aunt stood in front of the door, arms crossed. "I thought you went out on a date with the love of your life Blake," her brow rose in question, she noticed the colour around his neck. She knew what it meant, knew where he was going.

"She set me up with some girl instead," he replied pocketing his hands in his jacket and hunched his shoulders. The woman was a good foot smaller than her, with wide hips and a slim torso. This was the woman that raised him after his parents had died in a crash when he was five. He could hardly remember his parents, if not for the pictures he may have completely forgotten what they had looked like.

Her mouth opened, "oh honey," she said sadly reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his arm. Adam moved away before she could, his eyes staring at the door behind her. She sighed heavily knowing that he'd leave wither it be through a door or window he would be leaving. "Give me your colours," she held her hand out.

"What?" he started a hand reaching up to his bandana in defense.

"You're not leaving this house until I have that horrid colour band in my hands. You're walking out in the middle of a gang war wearing one of the gang's colours. I will not have you leave me too, not after my br—after your father. I can't lose you too."

He ground his teeth together, handing the bandana over once he untied it. He loved his Aunt and the last thing he would want to do is add any more grey hairs for the woman to dye when he doesn't need to. She worried enough about him when he wasn't in one of his moods. Her smile seemed force as she patted his cheek and kissed the other, "please just come home tonight."

He wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulder and kissed her hair. "I will Mum," he whispered back before stepping around her and out the door. Closing the door quietly behind him.

You don't pull out a knife in a fist fight. You don't pull out a gun in a knife fight. You don't go after a brother without a colour. And you never hurt one of the girls.

Those were the rules.

They were there for a reason.

Adam was colourless, he had no weapon. Not his pocket knife and surely not a gun. He didn't even have a fucking bat. He was fucked. Not drunk fucked, although he had been drinking, but fucked in the sense that someone had a gun trained on him and he hand nothing but his leather jacket and a shitty mood. The two other members in his gang took a step back and the boy with the gun unclipped the safety.

"Fuck," Adam whispered under his breath hand clenching and unclenching at his side. If he knew he had a hit on his head he wouldn't have come here. Wouldn't have gone anywhere without a switchblade. A shot rang through the air and Sun dropped to the ground, clutching his leg in pain. They weren't even in colour.

"Fuck," he hissed noticing the gun that Junior was pulling from the back of his pants. "Fuck," he hissed again as he dove to the ground when the shooter hand pointed the gun away from Junior after firing a second shot. "Fuck," Adam cursed as he took Junior's gun and leaned against a car for cover. He swore again as he took off the safety. He hissed out another curse as he fired, hitting the boy in the chest.

He choked up blood. Adam fell to his knees as the blood spilt out his lips.

When did he get shot?

He tipped backwards onto the asphalt, his mind trying to wrap itself around how he had gotten shot, and when. He couldn't breathe, the blood was pooling in his lungs too quickly for him to cough it back up.

He was going to ruin his jacket. It was a gift from Blake, back when she would still ride bitch with him. Back when she still wore leather and corsets. Back when she was still his Kitten. When he would tuck her hair behind her ear and smile sweetly at him. Back when she would smile back at him.

He was choking.

The sky was over cast, but there wasn't that smell of rain in the air. He should've gone to Blake's. Should've told her; should've finally came clean about the feelings that he's been harbouring for her.

He was bleeding.

Maybe his Aunt would give Blake all his jackets. That made him tear up. Thinking of his Aunt who would have no one. His Aunt who told him to come home tonight.

He was dying.

He wasn't coming home tonight. Or any other night.

Adam Taurus

3/21/1982—4/9/2000


End file.
